We buried my grandfather on Saturday. He died last Wednesday, surrounded by all of his children and my granny. Except for being in the hospital, it was pretty much the way he wanted to go. The service was simple, but it was nice; as nice as a funeral can be, anyway. It was very difficult, very exhausting. I'm mostly concerned now about my granny. She's never been alone, and she was kind of brought up to fear being alone. I don't know how she'll manage as she moves into life as a single person for the first time ever. Thankfully, the money situation seems to be better. My grandpa's daughter Barb bought a condo, hoping that my grandparents could move in together. Obviously my grandpa didn't make it, but she promised him that she would take care of my granny. So my granny can live there rent-free for as long as she wants. All of my grandfather's kids are pretty awesome. Funerals bring out the best or the worst in people, and this time the best came out.
I said a little tiny thing at the funeral when they asked for stories about my grandfather John. Here's what I said.
"When I was really little, for some unknown reason I decided that I wanted to be called Fred. The only person who indulged me in this insanity was John. He called me Fred for the rest of my life. Every time I would come to his house, he would say 'Hey Fred' or 'How's school, Fred?' I'm really going to miss being called Fred."
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